Page 43 of Restored

The delay was giving him far too much time to brood over what might happen—or what mightnothappen—at Redford’s.

He tried to read a book to pass the time, but could not concentrate, and found himself staring endlessly at the same page.

Getting to his feet, he paced the room, finally halting in front of the looking-glass above the mantel. He sighed. Sometimes it was startling to look at one’s reflection and recall how old one was.

He was seven-and-forty.

When last he’d seen Christopher, he had been nine-and-twenty.

Not soverymuch older than Freddy was now.

He sighed, remembering his argument with Freddy earlier.

“I’m not a child! I’m perfectly able to make my own judgments on the people I come across.”

It was really quite galling, Henry reflected, how he had gone, in his children’s eyes, from being a godlike creature whose sage advice was sought on the smallest matters to being someone whose every word was apparently quite superfluous and unnecessary. George barely confided in him at all these days, and if Henry gave Marianne enough rope, she’d manage him as though she were the parent and he were the child.

Henry sighed again and turned his head to examine more closely the streaks of grey at his temples.

Silver threads amongst the gold, as his mother used to say—or amongst the chestnut-brown in his case.

He ran his hands down his torso, frowning at the slight softness to his once-flat belly. He was fortunate enough to still be reasonably fit, thanks to his daily rides in Wiltshire, but he was beginning to notice that the years were taking their toll. His left knee had begun to ache when it rained—the niggling remnants of a twisting sprain he’d suffered after catching eleven-year-old George jumping down from a tree he’d got stuck in.

It made him feel old.

He thought back to when he’d first met Christopher. He'd had no conception then of how handsome and healthy he had been.

Perhaps no one realised how fortunate they were at that age.

Perhaps it was only later, as one witnessed the gradual, unrelenting loss of those attributes, that one began to truly understand what one had once had.

The clock in the corner chimed the half hour.

Time to go.

Henry carefully adjusted his neckcloth, minutely rearranging the folds, then made his way downstairs, to where the carriage would be waiting.

When he arrived at Sharp’s, Henry stayed inside the carriage, sending his groom to tell the doorman that the Duke of Avesbury sought to be admitted. Though not a member, his title and fortune would undoubtedly grant him entry. Sure enough, only a few minutes later, a well-dressed man emerged. Henry watched from the carriage window as the man took in the elegant equipage, and the ducal crest painted on the door.

“Your grace,” the man said as he approached the carriage window. He executed a creditable bow. “William Tait, at your service. Do I take it you will be honouring us with your presence this evening?”

“I thought I might,” Henry replied, offering a remote, polite smile. It never did to appear too keen.

“Ordinarily, we require our patrons to apply for membership in advance,” the man told Henry, “but in your case we would be very happy to make an exception.”

Henry nodded at the groom to open the door and stepped out of the carriage. He followed Tait to the front door, and the doorman stood aside to let them pass.

Inside, Sharp’s was gleaming and new-looking. The main gaming room was all dark green and gold. Gold-striped wall hangings and heavy, bottle-green velvet curtains. Dark-green leather upholstered armchairs and baize-topped walnut card tables.

Most of the chairs were occupied, and the play looked to be serious. The conversation was relatively muted, and there were no lightskirts patrolling in search of customers.

“Do you wish me to have a new table set up for you, your grace?” Tait asked.

“Let me do a circuit of the room first, to see if there is anyone I know here whose table I might join.”

“Very good, your grace. Would you care for some refreshment? Some champagne, perhaps?”

“That would do very well,” Henry agreed. “Thank you.”